Plagued by the Past
by Farugen
Summary: Jedi Master Sen Gran'do must embark on a mission to confront a Sith Lord whom he knows far too well. But he is not alone; by his side is his newly-knighted Padawan, Logan Vreil. Together, can they defeat the ghosts of the past plaguing them every step of their journey? Can they stop the menace of Darth Malus?
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

**_Rhen Var_**

**_15 Years Earlier_**

To any ordinary being trudging through the harsh, unwelcoming climate of Imperial Village 34467 on Rhen Var, Sen Gran'do was a simple tourist visiting with his wife and two children. He was a handsome middle-aged Human male with emerald eyes, a rugged-looking face and a full head of brown, straight-combed hair that was just beginning to show signs of graying. His height was above average, and in his thick-heeled snow boots, Sen stood at roughly six and a half feet tall; his build was not discernable, for he was attired in thick, unassuming winter clothing. The stunning woman walking beside him wore the same outfit, though with ostensibly smaller proportions than her counterpart, with whom she distinctly juxtaposed. She had shimmering gold hair that hung undeterred down to her slender waist, lucid blue eyes and a soft, kind face. The two boys that accompanied them shared a seemingly random combination of these features, one—the older one, by his looks—having dusty blonde hair, and the other a deep, solid brown head of hair.

"Dad, where are we going?" inquired the older boy, just a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"I told you, Kendrick, we're out enjoying the scenery. We don't always need to have a pre-determined destination. It keeps life interesting," replied Sen. He was holding hands with the woman now, his fingers inter-laced with hers. She was huddled close to him now. "Are you cold, Anya?"

"No, I'm fine for now, honey," Anya said warmly. "But if I do get cold, you'll be sure to give me your coat, won't you?" She smiled at him, pressing even more firmly against him. He smiled back. Kendrick rolled his eyes in response.

"Get a room, will you? Geez. This is lame." He kicked a raised portion of snow, at which point his boot made a thumping sound as it connecting with something solid. Kendrick frowned, turning his attention to the spot he had just kicked. The other boy, the brown-haired one, stopped and looked at the spot as well.

"What was that, Ken?" he asked, his voice of a noticeably higher pitch than that of the elder Kendrick. He didn't get any audible reply, but Kendrick shrugged and kneeled down, digging his gloved hands into the ground. Sen and Anya turned around now, urging the two boys to keep walking. "Wait up! I think Kendrick found something."

"What is it, Logan?" asked Anya. She exchanged worried glances with Sen. "Do you feel that, too?" she whispered. Sen nodded, and reached into the inside of his coat. He removed something metallic and cylindrical, and held it loosely in his left hand. Anya noticed this, and removed something of similar texture and shape from her coat, keeping it held in her right hand. They walked slowly over to the two boys, watching as Kendrick—now aided by Logan—uncovered what they had been searching for: a charred, blaster bolt-riddled Republic-issue breastplate. The name etched into the left breast of the armor could still be clearly read: "LIEUTENANT VRTISAM". Though only a portion of the breastplate had been uncovered, it was obvious that there was nothing left of the soldier that had once occupied it: a Mon Calamari, judging by the name.

"Logan, Kendrick, on your feet," ordered Sen, his tone shifting from blissful to grave. They exchanged a quick glance, and removed items from their coat that were nearly identical to that of Sen and Anya. "Look out!" he shouted. The group dove away from the seared armor simultaneously, and the air was very suddenly filled with snow and debris. They stood up almost as soon as they had hit the ground, the cylindrical items they had been holding—recognizable now as lightsabers—emitting brilliantly glowing colored beams. Sen and Kendrick held their respective purple and yellow blades in a high guard, while Anya and Logan held their respective blue and green blades in a lower, more relaxed guard.

"So much for our family walk, Master," said Kendrick, traces of a smirk forming on his face. His eyes were darting from left to right, obviously searching for someone or something in the distance. The area around them was sparsely populated with nostalgic wooden cabins on one side, a solidly frozen lake in the center, and an oddly placed landing pad on the other side; the entire area itself was surrounded by high cliffs.

"Don't worry, Kendrick, we'll have plenty of time…" Sen began, before letting his sentence trail off. Something wasn't right. If there was one thing that Sen had learned in his decades as a Jedi, it was to trust in the Force. To many, the Force was just a myth formulated by a hokey old cult. Sen knew better than that, but he didn't blame the non-believers. It isn't really something that one believes in unless he really experiences it… really _feels_ it. The Force may bind all things, but the ability to manipulate and feel this mystical, omniscient energy is an honor bestowed to a small percentage of the universe's beings. Right now, the Force was telling Sen that things were about to get a lot more complicated. Turning around to come face-to-face with an all-too-familiar figure confirmed that the Force was, as usual, all too right.

"Sen, it has been far too long," greeted the figure. His voice was deep and rich, and he was clad in a midnight black cloak, the connected hood draped over most of his face. "Tell me, brother, how many of these Jedi I will have to kill before you come with me where you belong?" The figure produced a lightsaber hilt from the sleeve of his robe, and from it emitted a brilliant white blade, almost indistinguishable from the snow-covered terrain.

"Hawk, don't do thi—" started Sen.

"Don't lecture me, brother," Hawk interrupted. "But if you decide at any point that you'll join me, don't hesitate to say so… it'll save the Jedi Order quite a few Jedi in the long run." He laughed as he threw off his cloak and leapt without hesitation at the four Jedi.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter One

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant

Present Day

"The Jedi Council hereby recognizes Logan Vriel as a Jedi Knight," announced current Master of the Order Cortrian X'ail in his unique, mystifying voice. He was standing in for the currently missing-in-action Grandmaster who would normally announce the decision of the Council. Sen felt a flood of relief as he watched, from the doorway into Council Chambers, his Padawan kneel before Master X'ail. He smiled as Logan's braid fell onto the glistening floor and rested there, the severed end now charred from the heat of Master X'ail's sky-blue lightsaber.

Fifteen years to the day have passed since Logan unceremoniously came to be under the tutelage of Sen Gran'do. Fifteen years since two more Jedi fell to the blade of the infamous Hawk Gran'do, now Darth Malus. That day lingers forever in Sen's memory, burned into his very soul.

_"Hawk, stop this!" shouted Sen, his own blade intercepting his brother's as it came all too close to Kendrick's neck. "Leave them out of this! This feud is between you and me!"_

_But there was no response. Reasoning with a man without morals is like trying to teach a bantha how to pilot a swoop: try and try as you may, you will never succeed. _

_Despite the obvious numerical advantage the four Jedi held, they were making no progress against the overwhelmingly superior Hawk. His snow-white blade seemed to be everywhere at once, blocking, parrying, and redirecting strikes from any and every angle. Here, indeed, was a true master of Makashi, lightsaber combat in its most refined form. It relied not on brute strength, but on precision. Only after decades of rigorous drilling could one attain the mental and physical coordination to bring out the full potential of Form II. _

_The four Jedi surrounded Hawk, attacking from every possible angle. Yet they were losing. Kendrick and Logan were tiring far too swiftly to continue fighting for much longer. In his short time under Sen's tutelage, Kendrick had made much progress, but this opponent was too much for him. Too much for _all_ of them. Logan seemed to be faring better than Kendrick, but unless Sen could get them away from Hawk, they would not survive this fight. Accepting that this was the only way to protect the Padawans, Sen gathered the Force to himself. It surged in him like a river, and he let it loose—but not at Hawk. The two Padawans' eyes widened as they were sent flying away from the fight. Hawk, too, was caught off-guard by this, just enough to cause him to poorly execute a riposte, resulting in Anya's lightsaber carving a deep gash in his right shoulder._

_Letting out an audible grunt of pain, Hawk suddenly switched stances. He shifted from his passive Makashi defense, to the far more aggressive form of Ataru. He leapt high into the air, flipping over Anya and sending a snap-kick to her lower back. She let out a low yell as she stumbled forward, but her yell fell silent as the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Anya fell to her knees, staring down at the white beam of energy now protruding from her abdomen. She looked up at Sen for a brief moment before falling limp onto the snow._

_"That's one," stated Hawk matter-of-factly. "Two left, brother." He turned his head towards the just-rising Padawans, whose faces shifted from a look of confusion to that of sheer horror as they saw Anya's limp corpse resting in the snow. They dug their forgotten hilts out of the snow, igniting them as they stood up. Sen shook off his lingering sadness and distress, calling out to the pair:_

_"No! Leave now! You are no match for him—don't let Anya's sacrifice be in vain! Leave!"_

_But no amount of coaxing could change the minds of these emotionally overwhelmed Jedi. They shouted and ran once more into the battle. Sen hung his head momentarily in defeat before turning to his brother who still stood over the motionless body of Anya. The Jedi Master raised his weapon once more and engaged his brother in battle._

_It was over before it started. Hawk was done toying with the Jedi, now; whereas his Makashi was the pinnacle of lightsaber defense, his Ataru was a near-unstoppable offense. His blade was a blur as it seemed to connect with all three of the Jedi's lightsabers simultaneously, forcing them to stumble back awkwardly as Hawk continued to push forward. The advancing did not cease, even when his blade met not with a clash, but with a death throe. Jedi Padawan Kendrick Goldstar fell to the floor in two pieces mere moments into the fight. Sen and Logan could not waste any time mourning, for there was no pause in the battle for lamenting for the fallen. In battle, your entire being must be handed over to the Force. You must surrender yourself to it. It is your greatest ally, and without it there can be no victory._

"Master Gran'do?"

Sen snapped out of his daze, and blinked away the last lingering images of the past. This was a momentous occasion for Logan; he best not ruin it by dwelling on what cannot be changed. The Force was a powerful entity and could do many things, but to Sen's knowledge it could not alter reality. Anya and Kendrick were gone—that is reality. Logan is his apprentice—no, Logan _was_ his apprentice. He was a fully-fledged Jedi Knight, now.

"Ah, yes. I'm here, Logan," he said, smiling as Logan approached him. "Congratulations. How does it feel to be a Jedi Knight?"

"Oh, not as differently as I thought it would. I suppose it will take some time for it to really sink in."

Sen chuckled. "Don't worry. You'll realize soon enough how different things are once you become a Knight. Pretty soon you'll have to choose a Padawan of your own, you know."

"I eagerly await that day, Master," Logan replied with a grin. But the grin faded away slowly. "I just wish Master Grace were here," he added, his voice full of regret and sadness. Sen placed a hand firmly on his former Padawan's shoulder.

"Anya would be so proud of you, Logan. I know I am. But we must not live in the past. Do not linger on what has already occurred; let your focus be on the here and now." Sen realized as he spoke how hypocritical his words were. He was preaching something that he himself has, for fifteen years, been unable to practice. That day haunts him and, Sen surmised, would continue to haunt him until he can come to terms with it. He knew there was only one way to do that, and Sen wasn't sure if it was something he could do. But Sen's thoughts were interrupted as Master X'ail spoke up once again.

"While you two are here, the Council would like to present you with your next mission. I know it is soon, but this mission is urgent and we have very few Jedi available who could handle this job." Cortrian waved his hand, and the lights dimmed. The holoprojector situated in the center of the room flickered to life, projecting the image of a barren desert planet into the room.

"Korriban," muttered Sen. He knew the planet well, and was beginning to have his doubts about whether just he and Logan could handle what the Council was going to send them to do.

"Indeed, it is Korriban," acknowledged Cortrian. "It is a planet that reeks of the Dark Side, and is riddled with innumerable burial sites of Sith Lords long dead." He hesitated a moment before adding, "However, we have recently discovered that it is also the base of operations for Darth Malus' Sith Order."

Nothing was said for a long while before Logan spoke up. "What do you want us to do, Master?"

Cortrian looked him in the eye and said, "Whatever is necessary to stop him. Violence is always the last resort, Jedi Vriel. But this man is the galaxy's greatest threat right now. He must be stopped."

Logan simply nodded and bowed. He turned to Sen who was staring blankly at the ground now. "Master? Will you be alright for this?"

Sen turned to him, and in a tone of resignation he replied, "Whether or not I am ready to face my brother is irrelevant now. It is something that I _must_ do."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

**Crash site. Location unknown.**

**Present Day**

"Well, I suppose things could be worse."

Sen shot his former apprentice an inquisitive glance, then returned his gaze to the smoking heap of parts that was, just minutes ago, their shining new shuttle, the _Destiny's Charter_.

"You told me that you could fly a shuttle," Sen said admonishingly. He folded his arms across his chest, letting out an audible sigh.

"Yes, you're right. I did say that," Logan replied. "But if _someone _had just let me take the Perlemian Trade Route instead of trying the Hydian Way, we wouldn't have run into an asteroid field. And if we didn't run into an asteroid field, we wouldn't have lost our engine and been forced to crash land on… where are we?"

Sen looked around. Trees. Everywhere he looked.

"Well, if I could venture a guess, I would say we were on a primarily botanical planet."

"A brilliant observation, Master."

"Indeed. I would assess the validity of my 'brilliant observation,' but the _Charter_'s scanning equipment is in… questionable condition."

Sen forced himself to smile, looking over at the recently Knighted Logan Vriel. He was fiddling with a large tear on the sleeve of his brown robe, probably a result of their last-minute leap from the cockpit of their doomed starship.

"This was a new robe," Logan said somberly.

"Jedi are not vain, Logan. A robe is only a robe."

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Logan ceased moping over his torn robe, and proceeded to rummage through the wreckage. "I'll see if any of the food made it through the crash."

"Alright. I'm going to take a look around. I have my comm if you need me." Logan didn't reply, but Sen knew he had heard him. He also knew that Logan liked to busy himself when he knew he messed up. The Knight would get over it, however; for the moment, Sen had far more troubling things on his mind. He left the crash site and entered the dense jungle.

The aesthetically vibrant forests were a direct contradiction with the presence feeling of death that seemed to grasp the very air; Sen couldn't shake that feeling. It was odd, indeed, to be so awed by a planet's liveliness and vibrancy while, at the same time, to be compelled to constantly be on your toes, as if the planet itself was waiting for the right moment to gape open and swallow you. The air, thick and moist and warm, seemed to be unable to disengage itself from a very thin layer of fog, just enough to be visible to the eye and impair ever so slightly one's vision. It was an eerie feeling, walking in the jungle, and as Sen looked up and observed the pale green hue of the sky, he had the sudden urge to return to the crash site. Then, it hit him.

The Jedi Master knew of only two predominantly forest planets on the Perlemian Trade Route, and he was pretty sure that they had not traveled far enough to reach Toprawa. He was also quite certain that the _Destiny's Charter_ had forced them off the Trade Route when the asteroid belt had wandered into their path. If his assumption was correct, then logically he was left with only one possible location in mind.

The Jedi Order exhausted considerable time and resources to monitor all the organized Force cults in the galaxy. When one of these cults gathered a significant enough following to be considered potentially harmful, they would intervene and shut them down. However, the Jedi Order has, for a very long time, been aware of a particular organization of Force Sensitives, and done little about them. Dangerous and mysterious, the Witches of Dathomir had, for centuries, trained their kind in the ways of Sith Magic. While, legend has it, an exiled Jedi Knight had started this matriarchal group of Force Sensitives, it shared very little in common with the Jedi Order.

However, the Witches were not Sen's primary concern—it was those who even the mysterious spell-casters deemed abject enough to exile from their society: the Nightsisters.

Sen stopped walking and looked at the trunk of a large, rather beaten up tree. It sported several long, deep gashes across the length of its considerably sized base. Only a handful of creatures on Dathomir could have made such a large mark on a tree as sturdy as the one before him. The native malkloc, Sen knew, was a herbivore, but was of such immense size that only a fully-grown rancor was able to take it down. Being the size that it was, a malkloc would hardly notice if it accidently trampled, say, a pair of unfortunately stranded Jedi. Then, there was the rancor. A nightmarish creature that, Sen surmised, even he and Logan would have difficulty taking down. Quite unfortunately for them, Dathomir was infested with the abominations. Sen turned around. It was time to return. Formidable as Logan was in battle, he was in danger being alone; especially since he wasn't aware of what dangers were out there in the forest.

When Sen reached the crash site, he was relieved to find Logan sitting against the base of a tree, gorging on a pack of provisions. Logan looked up, swallowed his food, and greeted the Jedi Master. "Welcome back. Enjoy your walk?" He reached into a battered durasteel lockbox, removed a package of provisions, and held them up.

Sen smiled, walking over to Logan and accepting the food. "Oh, yes. It was quite, ah, enlightening, you could say."

"Really? Did you manage to figure out where we were?" With a smirk, Logan added, "Aside from a 'primarily botanical planet,' I mean."

"I did, actually. Well, I'm almost positive, anyway." Sen opened the package of food and began to munch on a breadstick. Logan looked at him, awaiting further explanation.

"Well…? Where are we, then?"

Swallowing his food, Sen cleared his throat and replied, "Turns out we ended up on Dathomir. At least, that's a fairly educated guess."

"_What?!"_

"Hmm?"

"What do you mean, 'hmm'? We're in a terrible position right now! Even worse than that time you pissed off that Herglic on Fondor."

"He over-reacted."

"You told him he was fat, Master."

"No, no. I didn't _say_ it. I implied it. And _you're_ overreacting right now. We'll be fine. I'm sure the sound of our crash has frightened most of the rancors and malkloc away."

"What's a malkloc?"

Sen was about to reply when he felt an all-too-familiar feeling in the back of his mind.

_Danger._

And whatever it was, it was big, and it was hurtling towards them with unnerving speed. Apparently Logan had felt it, too, because he had put his provision pack down and was unclipping his hilt from his belt. He looked over at Sen and nodded. The pair stood up, ready to face whatever was coming through the tree line ahead of them.

No amount of Jedi breathing techniques could have calmed them enough to keep them from jumping back when the malkloc came crashing through the line of trees, its rancor pursuer claw-deep in its flesh. The malkloc fell, belly-up, to the ground, kicking at the rancor with its massive legs—but to no avail. The rancor, nearing ten meters tall, slammed its massive fist into the soft underbelly of the creature. Feebly, the malkloc attempted to clamp onto the arm of its opponent. But the rancor, sensing the life of the malkloc fading, grabbed the neck of the creature with both hands and, using both of its feet to keep its victims torso steady, tore the head from its body.

"Malkloc?" Logan asked quietly.

"It was," Sen confirmed.

"Any chance of us sneaking off while the rancor chows down?"

"Probably not. They have quite a keen auditory system, I hear."

"I thought they had a good sense of smell, not hearing."

"Actually, it's both," an unfamiliar voice said from behind them.

The two Jedi spun around quickly, lightsabers activating simultaneously with a _snap-hiss_.

"Welcome to Dathomir, Jedi. My name's Kanteera. It's been a while since we've had one of your kind come to visit us," said the stranger. She was pretty girl, even with her elaborate facial tattoos and overly flamboyant headdress. Aside from her headdress, Kanteera wore very little: a simple brown loincloth, and a similarly colored top covering her chest. In her hand was a wooden staff, which she leaned on. The end of her staff was sharpened to a point, but aside from that she did not seem to have any weapons in her possession. She smiled at them, and her girlish smile betrayed her youth. Sen estimated her to be barely thirteen.

"We're not here for a visit," Sen replied. "As you might have noticed, we're having some difficulty with our ship."

Kanteera looked past the Jedi to the still-smoking heap of parts that was once a ship.

"I see. Why don't you come with me? I can take you back to my village. I'm sure that someone will be able to help you with your… ship trouble."

Sen and Logan exchanged wary glances. The fact that neither of them had sensed this girl made them uneasy. She seemed harmless enough, but Sen knew better than to trust his eyes. If Master Atreides had taught him anything during their time together, it was never to trust your senses; they, unlike the Force, can be deceived.

_"Where am I?" asked the middle-aged Jedi Council member. He was sitting directly in front of Sen, and they were both staring at each other._

_"Master? You're right in front of me," replied Sen, confused. _

_"Am I? How do you know this?"_

_"Because… because you are. I can see you."_

_"Wrong! You don't know I'm here. Your eyes are telling you that I am sitting in front of you."_

_"But you _are_ sitting in front of me, Master!"_

_"You believe that because your eyes are telling you that I am. Do not trust in your eyes, my Padawan, or any of your other senses. The only thing you can rely on is the Force. Open yourself to the Force; let it flow in you, through you. You are a conduit for it." _

_Sen closed his eyes. He pictured himself standing on a rock in the middle of a great river. The river was flowing calmly, now, but continuously. But he urged the river to flow faster. _'Go on,' he urged. 'Flow freely.' _And it did. The river flowed with great force, and he felt the cool water wash over him._

_"Good, I can feel it within you. Can you feel it now, Sen?"_

_"Yes, Master."_

_"Now, Sen, where am I?"_

_"You're right in front of me."_

_"How do you know this?"_

_"Because the Force told me so."_

_Master Atreides smiled and patted Sen on the head. "You'll become a wise and powerful Jedi one day, my Padawan."_

Sen felt that same river of power enter him again, and with it he searched Kanteera. What were her intentions? Judging by her appearance, she was a Dathomiri Witch; part of one of the tribes of Witches in the area. But was she a member of the true tribes, or was she a Nightsister? Sen could sense an unnerving well of energy within this girl, and he hoped that the former was true.

"That would be very appreciated, thank you," he said.

Logan looked questioningly at his Master, who powered off his lightsaber and returned it to his belt. The Knight hesitated before following suit.

"Great!" said Kanteera excitedly. "Gnomnom will lead the way!"

"Gnomnom?" the two Jedi asked at the same time.

Kanteera puckered her lips and made a long, shrill whistle. The two Jedi exchanged worried glances as the feasting rancor, upon hearing Kanteera's call, lifted its head from inside the open belly of the dead malkloc and lumbered over to them.

"Don't worry," she assured them. "Gnomnom is usually pretty friendly! Well, except for when that one guy tried to shoot him a few days ago. It was some fat whale with legs! Gnomnom took care of him, though."

"Whale with legs?" Logan asked, looking over at Sen. "You don't think…"

"No, it couldn't be," replied Sen, sounding unsure himself. "Well, Fondor was a long time ago. And, now that you mention it, I do recall the NaviComputer saying something about Dathomir."

The rancor stopped directly behind the trio, peering down at them with beady yellow eyes.

"Bring us back to the village, Gnom!" shouted Kanteera, and skipped gracefully behind the rancor as it entered the woods.

Sen shrugged, tightening his robe around him. "Well, let's get going."

"Are we _really_ going to follow a rancor, Master?"

"No, of course not, Logan. That would be ridiculous." Sen stepped over a tree that Gnomnom had knocked over, and began to follow the path it had left. "We're following the girl."


End file.
